


Handcuffs

by Gracefully



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Morse Code
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracefully/pseuds/Gracefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winters and Nixon are kidnapped and handcuffed together (aka they have a sleepover and hold hands a lot).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handcuffs

**Author's Note:**

> willful suspension of disbelief.

The patrol was ill-fated already. The patrol was a mismash of the only soldiers the company could spare, and many's daily duties would never include patrols. Such was the case with Nixon, who was one of the least injured of the company, and was therefore hobbling in the back, staring at the back of Winter's head, who took middle. Everyone on the patrol was injured in some way, and it struck Nixon as he saw the hitch in Dick's step.  He didn't know the rest of the soldiers, but Dick did. Most were replacements, and not a single one had trained with Winters and Nixon at Toccoa. He had barely learned their names before they had all donned helmets and guns, and tromped out into the uncertain territory surrounding the camp.

In truth, they weren't even due to be there yet. They had radioed ahead to the platoon, and were told to lay low and get some well-deserved rest for 2 days, while the rest moved in. However, they had been warned that the woods could be a temporary home to the enemy, and and told to keep their wits about them. 

Nixon couldn't think of a task he thought more tedious. Actually, paperwork was pretty damn tedious, but that was straightforward and lacked risk of any kind. This was full of risk, a walking disaster just waiting to happen.The only upside to the task was that he got to spend time with Dick. The two had been seeing more of one another ever since the redhead had been promoted, but he was always crabby when behind a desk, and he seemed put out at the lack of action. Nixon hoped the fresh air would clear his mind, and their two days off might get him to relax a little. 

As the group stalked through the forest, all were silent. As they walked, an air of unease began to settle around them. Nixon shook the scared, suggestive voice out of his head, and glanced around more furtively. As they walked, he noticed several other catch on; extinguish their cigarettes, grip their rifles tighter, and steel their jaws. Even though all seemed clear, the boys looked on-edge enough that a shot going through the air would shatter them from the sound alone. 

The woods began to settle down around Nixon, stifling his breath and laying ever-increasing pressure on his head and shoulders. He thinks that his hip flask might help alleviate that. As they walked, the pressure mounted and mounted, until Nixon felt like he wanted to scream, just to have a sound pierce the woods. 

In front of them, Winters suddenly gave the sign to hold. The patrol stopped a beat late, startled. He ushered them down, glanced both ways, then signaled for Nixon to come over. Hiding a wince, Nixon crawled over. Winters looked uncertain in the light, and that made Nixon highly uneasy. An uncertain Winters was a situation best handled by running from it. Winters leaned closer, glancing out into the forest. "I don't know, Nix," he said very quietly. "It's too quiet for a forest, especially one this isolated. Now, we've seen no signs of the enemy, but I'm not willing to rule it out quite yet. There's something about this place.." His lips pressed together, and he said even quieter, "makes my skin crawl, and I don't like it." 

Nixon was glad to hear that he wasn't the only one, yet hearing the admission from Winters made him uneasy. "I couldn't agree more. I feel like my mind is going to run over itself, it's so damn quiet." 

Winters smiled a tiny smile, taking a sip from his canteen. After a beat, he offered it to Nixon with a lifted eyebrow. Nixon declined with a small shake of his head. Winters eyed him for a moment, then asked, "Walk up front with me?" 

Nixon nodded, and Winters gave the order to resume the patrol. One of the replacements took up the back, and Nixon stayed a couple paces to Winters' right. They continued their march through the forest, and as the sun made its descent, the forest grew ever gloomier. Winters was leading them the long way around, Nixon realized. Just as he gave up hope of having dinner at any reasonable hour, Winters stopped dead in his tracks. 

Before Nixon could even react, a shot went off and one of the replacements behind him hit the dust with a yell. Nixon, knowing his prowess (or lack thereof) with a rifle, dropped it and body slammed Winters, throwing him into the roots of a large pine. "Get down!" he shouted behind him, to see that the rest of their patrol was scattering, dropping to the ground and rapidly crawling away. 

Winters was still beneath Nixon, who carefully slid off of him, kneeling in the dirt. A stick cracked nearby, and Nixon suddenly became aware of the wheeze of an engine. Distant sounds became footsteps, thumping closer and closer. Winters gripped his rifle, and Nixon cursed himself for leaving his out in the open. A German soldier, unarmed, walked out, eyes on Nixon's gun. Dick readied his weapon, but before he could get off a shot, an ice-cold piece of metal was pressed to the back of Nixon's neck. He froze in shock, and Winters must have felt the movement, because he turned. Surprise, shock, and a good dose of fear were written across his face, and Nixon was suddenly very afraid. 

A thick voice behind Nixon said something in German, and when neither of them did anything, the tip of the gun to Nixon's neck moved to gesture at Winters. Understanding, Winters set his gun aside and slowly put his hands over his head. Nixon followed suit, before a rough gag was shoved into his mouth. He glanced helplessly at Winters, who looked as close to furious as Nixon had ever seen him. Some scratchy material was thrown over Nixon's head, before his hands were yanked down and tied behind his back with another piece of cloth. The cords were tight enough that Nixon was sure his wrists would be raw by the time they were untied. His entire body surged with the urge to do something, to lash out and take control. He couldn't see a thing through the fabric of the hood the soldier had thrown over his head, and that caused his head to spin with unease. Without sight, Nixon was next to helpless.

Nixon spent the next minute trying to calm his breathing, before he was forced roughly to his feet. Swaying in the void that had come to surround him, Nixon was searched roughly. His hip flask was yanked away, and his knife. The hands left him, and Nixon heard the thumps of Winters being searched as well. He stood for a moment, before the hands of the soldier grabbed his bound ones. A cold piece of metal was slapped to Nixon's right wrist, and he was yanked along with it, as the other end was presumably hooked to Winters. The hands pushed them, stumbling and blind, through the woods. The sound of the running engine became stronger, and after a while, they were helped up onto a flat wooden surface. 

Nixon's shoulder was shoved roughly as he sat down heavily on a bench of sorts. There was a slam and a click, and footsteps circled the vehicle. Through the fabric of his jacket, he could feel Winters, leaning into the touch. The vehicle lurched forward, and Nixon heard Winters make a sound of pain through his gag. Their hands, bound handcuffed together, brushed, and Nixon grabbed at the contact. Winters responded immediately, linking their pointer fingers together. He gave a reassuring squeeze, and Nixon squeezed back, feeling a little bit of his uneasiness leave him. 

He had every reason to be absolutely terrified, but somehow the presence of Winters beside him was comforting. Nixon re-adjusted his finger to that he could tap the palm of Winters's hand. Starting with two short taps, Nixon tapped out in morse code: U O-K-A-Y. Winters tapped back on the back on Nixon's hand: Y-E-S. U. Nixon tapped back that he was okay, and the two ceased communication for a minute, simply keeping the pressure between their fingers. 

Nixon was starting to get seriously uneasy. Here he was, kidnapped by the enemy, headed who-knows-where to do God-knows-what. The only solace that Nixon had was that he had Dick with him, and that seemed good enough for any situation. It took a while to type out, but Nixon asked, W-H-E-N T-H-E D-O-O-R-S O-P-E-N, D-O W-E R-U-N? 

Dick's shoulder bumped against his as the car turned, the terrain changing from relatively easy to very rocky and presumably filled with potholes. He responded, W-A-I-T U-N-T-I-L H-O-O-D-S C-O-M-E O-F-F. T-H-E-N F-I-G-H-T A-N-D R-U-N. Nixon, with a twitch of fear in his gut, inhaled deeply and tried to reassure himself that all would be well. Dick had a plan (kind of), and they could get out of it. As if reading his mind, Dick tapped out, D-O-N-T W-O-R-R-Y. Nixon felt a smile threaten to slide out around the gag. He simply squeezed Dick's finger in response, and felt a squeeze back. 

They rode for what seemed to be hours. Nixon almost fell asleep a couple of times, but the incessant bumping and the pressure on his fingertips kept him awake. Finally, after a particularly rough patch that the vehicle seemed to crawl over, they came to a stop, with a clang. Nixon's ears rang after the engine was cut, so comparative was the silence. There was a thump and a crunch as the driver hopped down from the cab and crossed around to the back of the vehicle. 

Dick squeezed Nixon's finger, and Nixon could feel his energy shift from patient waiting to a constant thrum. There was the sound of the door opening, before a hand yanked on Nixon's shoulder, hauling him into an upright position. The movement chafed at his sensitive wrists, rubbed from the cord, and he heard a groan from Winters, presumably because of the same. 

Nixon then noticed the peculiar lack of light, as the hands helped him down to the ground. The air was cool around Nixon's neck as his hood shifted slightly. His hands felt the air as well, now feeling somewhat bereft after Winters's warmth had been yanked from him. He was close, but the hands forced them to stumble quickly, and Nixon was unable to grab him again. He felt uneven rock under his boots, toes scraping as they were dragged away from the vehicle. 

Suddenly, there was a yank from Winters, and Nixon almost fell from the momentum. There was a yell from the guard, before Nixon was yanked again, falling hard on his side. His arms were being held awkwardly behind him, before he heard a thump. Suddenly the hood was ripped from over his eyes, and Winters's pale face was outlined in the moonlight. "Nix, you okay?" he asked, pulling the gag out of Nixon's mouth. Nix leaned over and spat, before nodding. 

"Yeah, I think I'm fine. Help me up, will you?" Winters scrambled up, pulling Nixon with him. Nixon noticed that aside from the pair of handcuffs that joined them, Winters' hands were free. On further inspection, their captor lay in the dirt, unconscious. 

"Turn around." Winters ordered. Nixon did as he was told, and after a few moments of fiddling, the cloth around Nixon's wrists loosened. He shook his left hand out, blood running painfully unhindered through into his fingertips. 

"Thanks," he said, kneeling to search the guard. 

"Anytime, Lew." Winters grinned, crouching beside him. Nixon was able to find a pistol and a knife on him. He handed the pistol to Winters, keeping the knife for himself. Winters checked the gun while Nixon continued to search the guard's pockets; the gun was fully loaded. Nixon also pocketed a pack of smokes and a small compass. Winters took a watch and fastened it on with help from Nixon. They searched the vehicle next, which happened to be a German supply truck, but the two could not find the weapons they had on the patrol, or, to Nixon's dismay, his hip flask. They were able to find a canteen of water, but despite Nixon's grumblings, they were remarkably well-off. Nixon suggested they drive the truck, but further inspection revealed why they had stopped: the back tire must have driven over a particularly rough patch, because it was completely, irreparably flat. 

"Alright," Winters began, checking his new watch. "According to this," he tapped the face twice, "it's almost twenty two hundred hours. When we were on the patrol, it was eighteen hundred hours. During that four hours, we traveled pretty slowly for a car, but it will still take us at least twice that time to walk back, even if we know where we're going." He paused to glance around, then up at the sky, then finally at the compass. He pointed out into the forest. "That way is North, but if we want any hope at finding our way back, we should follow the road." 

"Lead the way, oh captain." Nixon said with a mock bow. Winters rolled his eyes, a small smile gracing his face. Nixon smiled in reply, walking beside him. They were silent for a long time, both listening intently to the sounds of the forest around them. Crickets chirped and the wind wound through the trees, but the loudest sound was the silence between the two. Nixon found himself glancing at his companion more often than he was glancing at the forest around them. 

The moonlight did wonders to Winters's face, turning him from pale to glowing. His hair was silver, his uniform pale green. The forest around them was dark, and there Winters was, a glowing personification of a silver wolf. He had the light of the stars in his eyes and the moon behind his teeth, and Nixon suddenly felt like he was about to jump from a plane. 

“We should, uh, probably bed down for the night.” Winters said suddenly, glancing at Nixon. He did a small double take. “What are you looking at, Nix?” he turned to look behind him, to see what Nixon had been gazing so hard at. 

“Uh, nothing.” Nixon said. It was an utter lie, and Nixon knew it. Instead, he felt as if he was looking at everything. “You’re right. It’s getting pretty late, and we probably want to travel by day.” 

Winters nodded before pulling them off the road, into the forest. “Dick…” Nixon began, but Winters shushed him. They walked only for a few moments, until they could no longer see the light gray meander that was the road. Winters found a small patch of dry leaves underneath an old gnarled pine. He sat down and Nixon sat with him, a grateful sigh escaping his lips. 

“Man oh man, what a day.” Nixon said, wishing for his hip flask. Winters leaned back against the tree, and nodded tiredly. The moonlight was hindered by the roof of massive pines, so Dick’s hair was dark grey instead of silver. His eyes had dimmed, the whites stood out in contrast. Nixon shivered in the cool air. 

“You cold?” Winters asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern. 

Nixon shrugged. “It’s not that bad.” 

Winters stretched out onto the leaves, carefully taking the bullet out of the chamber in his stolen pistol and tucking the weapon under his thigh. 

Nixon stretched out next to him, his eyelids already growing heavy. “One of us should really keep watch,” he said. His voice sounded thick and syrupy with sleep. 

Winters hummed an agreement, and turned onto his side. 

“Ow,” Nixon said peevishly as his wrist was yanked. 

“Sorry, forgot about this,” Winters said, turning so that he faced Nixon. He tucked his free hand underneath his head, pillowing his face from the ground. Nixon curled towards Dick until their knees brushed. In his near-sleep, Nixon twined the fingers of his cuffed hand through Dick’s fingers. Nixon’s wrist was sore where the bindings and the handcuff had worn at it for the previous hours. 

Winters, surprisingly, didn’t protest when Nixon held his hand. Instead, he simply smiled a little in the darkness, just a hint of teeth for Nixon to see, before he fell sound asleep. 

 

When Nixon woke, it was to Dick’s hand pressed firmly over his mouth. Nixon panicked and tried to push him off, before a stab of pain from his wrist stopped him. Nixon met Dick’s wide eyes. Dick held a finger in front of his mouth and Nixon nodded. Dick released Nixon and Nixon slowly sat up. He heard a voice. 

Nixon absently picked a leaf out of Winters’s hair as the voice got slightly louder. Nixon heard a horse’s hooves on the gravel. A German accent floated out over the trees, another voice answered. Nixon peered through the pines, and he could barely see the flash of sunlight on the barrel of a rifle. A black horse pulled a cart, manned by one German soldier. Two other walked alongside the cart, chatting to one another. 

Nixon realized he was gripping Winters’s hand with a fair amount of force. They waited until the voices were completely gone before whispering to one another. “Let’s get out of here,” Winters said to Nixon. They quickly packed up camp and cautiously made it up to the road. All was clear. 

They set a brisk pace, holding hands to minimize the amount of jerking. Nixon’s wrist was raw where the handcuff was, and he noticed similar marks on Winters’s wrist. The road, luckily, didn’t branch out much at all, which took the guesswork out of finding their way back. While they walked, Nixon and Winters traded stories about their lives before the war. 

Nixon was struck with just how different he and Dick were. They came from vastly different backgrounds, but at the heart of the problem, Dick was a good man, a great man, and Nixon knew he wasn’t. Dick was selfless, he put himself through college, he was a righteous leader and a favorite amongst the men for good reason. Nixon, on the other hand, felt as if he were a constant burden. 

Being with Dick, however, listening to his easy laugh and watching a smile spread across his face, having their fingers linked together, Nixon didn’t feel so bad about himself. 

A couple of times, the pair had to dive off of the road and into the woods when they heard a car or a horse-drawn cart approach. They weren’t spotted, but the encounters still put Nixon on edge. 

After a good three hours of walking, the road split. A sign, luckily, was able to point them in the correct direction. The two picked up their pace as the sun peaked in the sky. Finally, after another couple of hours, they neared the village E company was situated in. 

“Home, sweet home, huh?” Nixon asked, nudging Dick. Dick smiled a wan smile and led Nixon towards the center of camp. They caught a couple of stares, and Nixon realized that they probably looked a little rough around the edges. 

“I’m tellin’ ya Lip, all we’s gotta do is send me n’ Joe n’ Babe in, teach them a lesson.” 

“Guarnere, for the last time, we--” Lipton trailed off when he looked up and saw Nixon and Winters walking towards them, handcuffed together but otherwise unharmed. 

A smile crossed Guarnere’s face. “Well look-ee here!” 

“Sorry we’re late, Nixon and I got a little tied up back there.” Nixon smirked and rubbed a circle into the back of Winters’s palm with his thumb. 

Lipton approached. “Sir, you gave us quite a scare. The men here were all ready to march into uncertainty for you two. Are you boys hurt?” 

Nixon held their hands up. “Our wrists are chafed, and I’m hungry as hell, but otherwise I’m fine.” 

Lipton smiled. “Well, we can fix pretty much all of that.” Lipton was eventually able to rustle up someone who could pick the lock on the handcuffs. They came apart and Nixon and Winters pulled apart, rubbing at their wrists. 

“Next time we go on a weekend trip, Lew, let’s go to Paris instead of the forest, huh?” 

Nixon smiled, giving Winters a playful shove. They weren’t chained together, but they still stuck to one another as closely as they could. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> wow, it took me like six months to write this and now i kinda hate it. yay.


End file.
